


A Welshman Named Apfelbaum

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Battle, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gil and his allies are still at war with Arroyo, but it's as much a battle of wits as a battle of forces, especially when it comes to wireless codes.  Both sides are struggling to keep their communications secure while intercepting and decoding the other one's.</p>
<p>This is where it turns out to be very useful that the allies have someone who can speak Welsh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Welshman Named Apfelbaum

**Author's Note:**

> This story follows on immediately from "From Russia, With Fluff".

The war against Arroyo lasted longer than any of us would have liked, with the possible exceptions of Dimo and his new beloved, Tatiana, the commander of Prince Dmitri's formidable regiment of were-samoyeds. I had taken a turn at driving the Prince's war chariot when his regular charioteer was taken ill with a nasty stomach upset, but I had quite seriously injured my back when the chariot was broken by one of Arroyo's battle clanks, and so I was now wearing a clank exoskeleton and back at my regular war position in charge of wireless operations.

Arroyo's troops had been driven back quite a way, but they were still in Wulfenbach territory and still fighting. Gil, Agatha, Tarvek, the Prince and I were discussing the situation in the war room on Castle Wulfenbach.

“There's a unit moving over here,” said Gil, demonstrating with the simulation on the large table in front of us. “I don't like that. I've got a horrible feeling they've managed to intercept our wireless transmissions again.”

“Well, that is the thing with wireless transmissions,” I replied. “Even when you do convoluted spark things with them, they are still not too difficult to intercept. After all, I intercept theirs all the time, as you're well aware.”

“Yes, but I expect you to do that,” said Gil. “You're clever.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And Arroyo does not have clever people at his disposal?”

“Of course he does, but he doesn't use automatic synchronised frequency shifters like we do,” Gil replied. “You'd think those would be very difficult to deal with, because unless you knew the pattern, you wouldn't be able to follow the transmissions.”

“So he worked out the pattern,” said Agatha, logically. “We can always change it.”

“Indeed, but if he can do it once, he can do it again,” Tarvek pointed out. “Unless, of course, we continually change the frequency-shifting pattern according to a meta-pattern, rather like a second derivative.”

“It's essentially analogous to the problem we have when we intercept their transmissions,” I pointed out. “As you know, theirs are in code, and once they realise I've cracked the code, they change it, naturally. We're doing much the same thing, but rather than encoding letters or words, we're encoding frequencies.”

“Could we do both at once?” asked the Prince. “Shift the frequencies and also use a code? That might give them pause.”

“We could if we had to,” said Gil, “but I'm reluctant to use a code. It slows down communication because someone down there has to decode it before the message gets through, and if it's a really urgent message, that's no good.”

“Languages,” said the Prince.

“You mean use a language that isn't spoken by anyone in Arroyo's forces?” asked Agatha.

The Prince nodded. “Precisely that. Ardsley here seems to be fluent in almost everything.”

“Well, ah, not exactly, Your Highness...” I began, a little flustered.

“It's all very well Ardsley being an outstanding linguist,” said Agatha, “but for that idea to work, we need at least one other person to speak whatever language is chosen.”

“Well, we do probably have a broader range of languages here than Arroyo has,” Tarvek observed. “It could possibly work. It's just a question of finding a suitable language.”

“I know you speak Hindustani,” said Gil, looking at me.

“That won't work,” I replied. “There are people from northern India across the whole of Europa, Spain included, and most of them will speak some variant of Hindustani. If we're going to go for an Indian language, we need one that not very many people speak. I can do Telugu, but even that might have too many speakers.”

“How on earth did you come to learn Telugu?” asked Agatha.

“Oh, well, it seemed a little remiss of me not to learn any of the southern languages when I'm part Indian myself,” I replied. “So I learned Tamil, Malayalam and Telugu. The Dravidian languages are actually very interesting. Were you aware that the distinctive consonants, including the retroflex ones, which appear in the Indo-Europan languages of the subcontinent all originated in the Dravidian languages?”

“I believe I am now starting to understand how other people feel when I start sparking at them,” said the Prince.

“Ah,” I said. “Sorry. I do like languages very much indeed.”

The Prince smiled. “No need to apologise. I may be bewildered, but I still recognise and enjoy your enthusiasm.”

“Actually, you know,” said Tarvek, “there's an interesting theory around which you may or may not have heard, and that is that the spark sometimes takes forms other than the scientific. I recently had the privilege of chatting to your old friend Mr Nightingale, and I am quite sure he is a musical spark. In just the same way, Ardsley, I think you may be a linguistic spark.”

I blinked. “I wouldn't have thought so,” I replied. “I'm just good at languages.”

Agatha grinned. “Well? I'm just good at science. I think Tarvek may have a point. After all, how many languages do you actually know?”

“Um,” I replied. “I haven't the faintest idea. But, honestly, I'm not omnilingual. I don't speak Thai, for a start...”

“And if you wanted to learn it, how long would it take you?” asked the Prince. “Learn it fluently, that is, not just to a level where you could get by.”

“Oh... not long. But I'm not sure, because I usually study several languages in tandem,” I replied.

“Yes, well,” said Gil. “This is fascinating stuff, but for one thing it's embarrassing Ardsley, and for another thing we do have a war to consider, which is why we are all in here in the first place. We just need one language we can use for coded messages. That's all.”

“Welsh,” said Tarvek, treating me to his most wide-eyed, innocent expression. I could, of course, immediately read the subtext. It was: “I know who your valet really is, Ardsley.” It was not at all unexpected. Tarvek spies on everyone with cheerful neutrality, and he does it well.

Still, he was not the only person who could do subtexts. I smiled back at him. “Finnish?” I suggested. The subtext in this case was: “I happen to know that is the language in which you code your laboratory notes, Tarvek.”

I got a wry smile back for my pains. Tarvek and I have been scoring points off each other since the moment we first met, and there is not the slightest hint of real malice in it. “Are you two playing diplomatic chess again?” Gil demanded.

“Do we ever stop?” I countered.

“I fear it rather lacks something as a spectator sport,” said the Prince, drily. “I am not following the moves.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Tarvek suggested Welsh because he knows who my valet is, and I am quite willing to go with that suggestion and explain it to the rest of you as long as it is understood that this is in complete confidence. If Tarvek wishes to tell you why I suggested Finnish... well, that is his business.”

“Isn't your valet Austrian?” asked Agatha, puzzled.

I shook my head. “Not by birth. Thanks to Gil's intervention, he is now officially Austrian, yes; he's a citizen of the Wulfenbach Empire by the name of Andreas Apfelbaum. But originally his name was Dai Jones, and he was born in Merthyr Tydfil.”

“And what happened?” asked the Prince, curiously.

Tarvek chuckled. “I caught him spying at Sturmhalten, his own authorities disowned him, and I made sure that information made its way to Ardsley here, because I wanted to see if he would try to get him out. Well, he not only tried; he succeeded.”

“With help from Gil, and others,” I added.

“It was still impressive,” said Tarvek. “I like setting puzzles for Ardsley. The trouble is, he's too good at solving them.”

“You honour me,” I replied. “Admittedly, in a rather odd way sometimes, but you do, nonetheless. Once we had got him out of Sturmhalten, he needed a job, and I needed a valet; I wasn't bending so easily, even before I hurt my back. He wanted the job, so I gave it to him. He's been very good, though I must admit I do worry that it's not enough of a challenge for him.”

“Strange how history repeats itself,” Gil mused. “You must have been bored to death sometimes, working as my valet.”

I grinned. “Oh, I was! But the laboratory work was usually fun, and you were always good company.”

“Right,” said Agatha. “So we have someone who can speak Welsh, and if he's been a spy he should be fine running messages on a battlefield. Sounds good to me.”

“And you did say he might be in need of a challenge,” Tarvek added.

“Indeed,” I said. “Shall I send for him and ask him if he wants to do it?”

“I would be in favour of that,” said the Prince.

“There is, of course, one small wrinkle,” I pointed out. “Dai Jones is supposed to be dead, or at the very least still languishing in Sturmhalten. Fortunately, our General Drew-Murgatroyd is not present, otherwise I would have said nothing, because I would prefer not to have Whitehall taking too much of an interest in my excellent valet. Enough time has passed since they disowned him that I think we could, if it came to it, convince them that he escaped on his own and then came to me for help; but I should prefer not to have to lie to them if I can possibly avoid it.”

“So he's definitely not a Welshman, then,” said Agatha. “Just an Austrian who happens to be fluent in Welsh.”

I nodded. “Precisely. As far as we are all concerned, his name is, and always has been, Andreas Apfelbaum.”

“Understood,” said Gil. “Tarvek, I trust you're agreeable?”

“Completely,” replied Tarvek, at once. “If I go round setting Ardsley difficult challenges, I have only myself to blame if he solves them. But there is one thing I'd very much like to know, if you don't mind telling me.”

“And what is that?” I asked. I was fairly sure I knew what it was going to be, and I was proved right.

“How the devil did you get the man out of Sturmhalten?” asked Tarvek.

I grinned. “Under your very nose, Tarvek. I know very well you have too much security to make it worth risking trying to sneak someone out, so I disguised him. Using, I might add, a ridiculous amount of theatrical wax. He couldn't even recognise himself when he looked in the mirror.”

“I was there at the time,” Gil added. “It was... artistic.”

“H'mm,” said Tarvek. “Well, I shall know next time.”

“I trust there won't be a next time,” said Gil. “Anyway, Ardsley, are you going to send for Herr Apfelbaum?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“I'll do it, if you like,” Agatha offered. “If there isn't a messenger nearby, it's going to be awkward holding the door open while you're waiting for one, when you're wearing that thing.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Agatha went to the door, stuck her head round it, waited until one of Gil's minions came within earshot, and gave the instruction. A few minutes later, there was a tap at the door, and Apfelbaum entered.

“Ah,” I said. “How do you feel about running messages on a battlefield?”

Apfelbaum's eyes widened with surprise, and there was a gleam of enthusiasm in them. “Me, my lord? But... don't you need me up here?”

“Not all the time. I can certainly spare you during the fighting. The point is, we need a language Arroyo's troops can't understand, and we thought of Welsh.”

Apfelbaum glanced nervously at Tarvek. “It's all right,” Tarvek assured him, with a smile. “You have nothing to fear from me. And, now that you are here, perhaps I should apologise for using you as a pawn.”

“H'mm,” said Apfelbaum. “I suppose you did no worse than my own authorities did, Your Majesty. You certainly fed me better.”

Tarvek bowed slightly. “I shall certainly pass on your compliments to my chef.”

I laughed. “When you two have quite finished with the formalities, this is how it will work. We'll issue a flag to the wireless operator in each unit. When you see a flag go up, Apfelbaum, go over there as fast as you can.”

“Might be worth issuing him with a flyer,” said Gil. “Or at the very least a pair of powered glide wings. It could get pretty exhausting on foot, not to mention dangerous.”

“Not at all dangerous if I let him use one of my shield suits,” the Prince pointed out.

“Yes, I still want to know how you're able to shape the field like that,” said Tarvek.

The Prince raised an eyebrow. “I shall tell you that, Cousin Tarvek, when you explain to me how you manage to keep the same field stable when it's large enough to protect an entire town. Fair is fair.”

“The glide wings might be the best idea,” I said. “If they realise what he's doing, they'll attack; and they can break glide wings but not blow them up, so if he flies low enough, he shouldn't get hurt.”

Apfelbaum nodded. “Yes, and if I am forced to land, I can still run. If I were in a flyer, I'd have to get out first.”

“If you're the only person flapping around on glide wings, you'll be conspicuous,” said Agatha. “We could do with a few decoys. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if we put wings on a few of the best fighters, so they could quickly get anywhere they were needed.”

“Flying Jägers?” asked Gil.

“Sounds good to me,” replied Agatha, happily.

“Yes, and I should think it will also sound good to the Jägers in question,” I observed. “Still, we're going to need some humans too, or they won't work as a decoy.”

There was a knock on the door. Gil opened it, admitting a very dishevelled Zeetha who was carrying a large box.

“Damn clank concussed Axel,” she explained, tersely. “So, any of you sparks need some spare parts?” She plonked the box down in the middle of the war room. It clearly contained all the useful, salvageable parts of one of Arroyo's finest battle clanks. It is really not a good idea to annoy Zeetha; she tends to be thorough.

“Is Mr Higgs all right now?” I asked.

“He will be. Still seeing double at the moment, but he's talking, and the medics are seeing to him.”

“Good,” I said. “Now... would you like a pair of wings?”

Within an hour, we had a couple of dozen people on the battlefield with wings, and there would be one more once Mr Higgs was fit to fight again. Knowing him, I doubted that would take very long. Gkika was in charge of the airborne Jäger contingent; Maxim had wanted to be, and then realised that he would have to take his cloak off or it would interfere with the wings, and that was one sacrifice too many. He remained, therefore, on the ground. Zeetha was in charge of the humans, except, of course, for Apfelbaum, who still reported directly to me.

I was very glad that Zeetha and Gkika were looking after our new impromptu flying unit, because I had my hands full in the war room. Zeetha is very intelligent, but nonetheless she does not always think everything through in advance. Dumping a large box of spare parts in front of four sparks, even if they are all working together, is not generally a good idea. I will confess that there are occasional moments when I tire of being everyone's favourite neutral observer and seasoned diplomat, especially when I would really be of more use at my seat in charge of the wireless operations than ensuring the fair distribution of Zeetha's spoils of war.

Still, at last that was done, and I went and resumed my place. My deputy, Frau Spielmann, who was one of Tarvek's staff, looked up as I approached. “Glad you're back, my lord,” she said. “They've changed the code again.”

“It was about due,” I replied. “Have you had a crack at it?”

“Not my skill, my lord. When all's said and done, I'm more of an engineer.”

“Fair enough. All right, let me have a look.”

Between that and actually heading up the communications, I was soon very busy. Apfelbaum turned out to be in his element; I had a small telescope set up beside my desk so that I could see in detail what was happening on the ground, and naturally I kept a close eye on him to start with, to make sure that he was coping well. It was soon eminently clear that he was doing far more than coping. He was enjoying himself immensely. He flitted around the battlefield with aplomb, and he was always very quick to spot when a flag went up. It was, however, a lot of work for one person, even one so enthusiastic; and I made a mental note to talk to General Drew-Murgatroyd when I next saw her, and ask her if any of her troops spoke Welsh.

I really enjoy cracking codes. In fact, I would go so far as to say it is one of my favourite occupations. I am at heart an inveterate puzzle-solver; it was this characteristic which enabled me to succeed as a spy despite the fact that I was really not at all suited to the job in other respects, and it certainly helps a great deal whenever I have anything to do with Tarvek. This one was tough, but by the time darkness started to fall I was in a position to start dictating the decoded versions of the transcripts to a messenger.

Gil walked in while I was doing this. “You are going to eat at some point, I suppose, Ardsley?” he said.

“Well, I'm certainly hungry,” I replied, “but I've just cracked the latest code, and I think it's rather important that you all get to see the transcripts as soon as possible.”

“You're a marvel,” said Gil. “But you know you need to eat regular meals. I don't want to nag you, but I know what your doctor would say...”

I sighed. “Yes, yes, Gil. I have diabetes. I know. I suppose I can't get a meal brought in here, can I?”

“Of course you can. I'll have someone see to that straight away.”

“Thank you. That would be very helpful.”

“Um... Lord Heversham,” said Frau Spielmann, adjusting her glasses with a somewhat uncharacteristic nervousness. “I've got some news you're really not going to like.”

I blinked. “Please tell me Apfelbaum hasn't been hurt!”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It's just... they've changed the code again, unless I am _very_ much mistaken. This doesn't look at all like the broadcasts we were picking up earlier.” She handed me a sheet of paper.

“That was quick,” I observed. “They must have someone who's been working out roughly how long it takes me to crack a code. That would make sense.”

“Well, you're very calm about it,” said Frau Spielmann.

“That's because it's not entirely unexpected,” I replied. “Never underestimate your enemy. Of course, it is a beastly nuisance, but then war does tend to consist of a long succession of beastly nuisances. It's rather the nature of the thing.”

“Is it a different code?” asked Gil.

I nodded. “Oh, yes. Back to square one. Still, my work isn't wasted; we should still have plenty of useful information in these transcripts.”

“Except that I suppose they'll now change everything round,” said Gil sourly.

“Well, I...” I began, then stopped. “Oh. Wait!”

“What?” said Gil.

“It is the same code, after all.” I laughed. “Fooled me for a few seconds. All they've done is taken a leaf out of our book and changed the language.”

Gil raised an eyebrow. “So, what language are they using now, then?”

“Basque,” I replied.

“Basque?” Gil echoed.

“Yes.” I grinned. “No problem!”


End file.
